


Ever After

by Satine86



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Romance, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: That was the problem post-Master life, it unfortunately gave you time to think.





	Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello. I'm 2 years late carrying Starbucks. So I recently binged the show, became obsessed with these two, and now I'm here vehemently denying the idea that Dutch and Vasiliy weren't together for the entire 5 years post-Master and beyond.

Sometimes Dutch missed the old place in Red Hook, the familiarity of it. The piecemeal security of it. Sometimes she missed the pawn shop for the exact same reasons. But they both held too many memories. Good, bad, and otherwise. 

That was the problem post-Master life, as things became more normal -- or what passed for normal anyway -- life became less about survival and more about living. It unfortunately gave you time to think. 

Time to think about the mistakes that were made, the people who were gone, and the things better off forgotten. Dutch still couldn’t stand the smell of pineapple, but sleep came easier. There was a practicing therapist in Manhattan, and now alcohol wasn’t her only means of quieting the thoughts and memories racing through her mind.

That didn’t mean she didn’t imbibe from time to time, it just meant it wasn’t a means to an end anymore. Although she did think of Eph whenever she poured liquor into a shot glass, now measuring instead of pouring freely. Just like she thought of the old man whenever she saw that cane by the door. 

Dutch glanced at it now, the polished wolf's head glinting under the overhead lights. It didn't see much use now, and she almost wanted to put it somewhere special. A place of honor. But Vasiliy was adamant that the old man wouldn't want that. So there it stayed, brought with them when they moved in. Because what was the point of having an up and coming real estate mogul as a friend if he wasn't going to give you first pick of the recently refurbished apartments.

The spacious apartment was all she would have wanted before the world turned to chaos, and it was so strange to have it now. Everything new and untouched. Maybe that was why she missed the place in Red Hook so much. It had been lived in. This place was a little too sterile. Taking a sip of her tea she told herself it would just take time. And she had time. For once.

A rustling came from the bedroom, and for the first time in a long time, Dutch didn't flinch. Didn't immediately reach for a weapon. Vasiliy exited their bedroom, toweling his hair dry and looking a little disgruntled.

"Hot water's out."

Dutch ran a hand through her damp hair, she must’ve taken longer than she thought. "Sorry," she said absently. 

"No, you're not." He sank down on one of the kitchen chairs. "Maybe next time you'll take me up on my suggestion we share?"

He grinned at her. The stupid crooked one he thought was so charming because it had worked on countless receptionists when he needed something. The worst part was that he was right.

She studied him, looking so at ease; smiling with his hair still wet from the shower, and the ends dripping onto his bare shoulders. Maybe it was because she had been ruminating on the past, maybe it was because it had actually been a happy time, regardless Dutch couldn't help remembering the pool. Their first time together, and how... free she had felt then.

Something about her expression -- Faraway? Lost? -- obviously worried Vasiliy. His smile dropped and he sat up straight, chin lifted as he regarded her.

"What are you thinking about?”

Dutch shook her head to clear her thoughts, and sat down her mug. She crossed to where he sat beside the table, and stopped. Before he could press the matter further, she hitched up the edges of the shirt that originally belonged to him and was several sizes too big, and straddled his lap. 

“I was thinking about swimming lessons,” she said. 

He laughed. “We never got very far with that.” 

“Maybe we should try again some time?”

“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow as his hands circled her waist, still laughing. 

“Actual swimming!” She shoved his shoulder to make her point. 

“Ah, I see.” He lifted his hand from her waist, pushed back her hair from her face and cupped her jaw. He brushed his thumb against her cheek, feather light. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

She used to hate that. The way he was so gentle with her, like she was something fragile. It made her feel weak. Eventually she realized that he wasn’t gentle because he thought she would break. He was gentle because he thought she was worth cherishing. 

Sometimes she had hated that too. Right now it just made her want to cry. Maybe she was weak after all?

“Do you think about them?” There was no need to clarify who she meant, there were too many to count. 

“Of course I do. Everyday.” 

Logically Dutch knew that. Only they rarely spoke of it, and it felt nice to hear it out loud. To know she wasn’t alone in that. Alone in her grieving.

She had lost so much, even before the end of the world she always seemed to lose. Always seemed to be the one left holding the bag. At least until she learned to run before it came to that. 

But not with Vasiliy, not now. Now there was just the two of them, in their new apartment that wasn’t quite home. With a flash, as quick as a lightning bolt, Dutch realized it didn’t matter if the place felt like home. It didn’t matter if they were there or back at the pawn shop or anywhere else. Vasiliy was home. 

Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his hair, more to hide the sudden tears stinging her eyes than anything. His arms wrapped around her once again, cradling her against his chest. 

"I'm glad you're here." It meant so many things. Glad he was alive; glad he was home; glad he hadn't left her behind. She knew he understood.

He moved his hand to the back of her head, and started smoothing her hair. Comforting. Her fingers dug into his hair, her face buried against his neck where he smelled pleasantly of soap and aftershave. Dutch listened to his breathing, slow and steady as his chest rose and fell against hers. He didn’t say a word and he didn’t need to. 

When the urge to cry subsided, and Dutch felt a little more in control -- a little less ridiculous -- she sat back and looked at him. His face was full of concern and maybe a little confusion, his brows knit together and lips pursed. His eyes though, his eyes were full of love and care. And that was something else they didn’t talk about… didn’t ever really say out loud. 

She cupped Vasiliy's face, her palms brushing against his freshly shaven jaw; she drew lines over his cheeks, and traced his lips. He didn't move a muscle, just watched her with a look on his face that she could only describe as tender; soft. She grabbed his chin and kissed him, her mouth crashing against his. It was rough, a little desperate and a whole lot needy.

He kissed her back, not needy but somehow reassuring -- or maybe she just wanted to believe that? His hand found its under her shirt and splayed against her back, warm and calloused. 

Dutch kissed him until that needy feeling was sated -- and maybe Nikki's mother was right? Maybe she was a vampire, always taking. She drew back and rested her forehead against his.

"I love you," she whispered. She loved him and she wanted him to stay, to promise he would never leave her behind. But she couldn't ask that, it wasn't fair.

"I love you, too." His thumb rubbed against her back, and she knew that was meant to reassure. She let out a shaky breath. "And I'll always be here, I promise." 

"I promise too." It felt disingenuous to say it after him, but it was all she had to offer. 

“Almost sounds like forever,” he said, his thumb still tracing soothing circles against her back. Dutch sat back to look at his face, to try and gauge what he was thinking. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn’t. 

Right now it didn’t. 

“Do you want it to be?” She felt unusually timid and completely uncertain. She didn’t like it, but that’s what being vulnerable meant, right? And Dutch knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she didn’t drop her guard sometimes. At least when it came to Vasiliy. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I kinda like the sound of forever.” 

“I do too.” Dutch knew neither of them could predict the future, but if they were both willing to try… well that meant a lot. 

“You know,” Vasiliy drawled, mouth twisting in thought. “It almost sounds like we’re married.” 

Dutch sniggered at him. Marriage had never once been something she thought about, and she kinda doubted he ever had either.

“You’re an idiot.” 

“What? Promises of forever, declarations of love. Sounds like vows. I think we’re married now.” His lips twitched. 

“Mhm.” She glanced down at the shirt she wore, one of his undershirts that was still a pristine white. “I’m even wearing white,” she teased. 

“Aren’t you only supposed to wear white if you’re pure?” 

“Oh, my god!” She slapped his shoulder with no real malice, even as he started laughing. “You’re a jerk.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” He shrugged and scooped her up as he rose from the chair. Dutch flailed inelegantly out of surprise. 

“What are you doing? Put me down!” 

“It’s tradition, isn’t it? To carry the bride?” 

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” 

“Nope.” He shook his head slowly. 

“Fine.” Dutch wrapped an arm around his neck, let him hike her up, and pointed toward the bedroom like she was the Queen of Sheba. “We should consummate this, shouldn’t we?”

“I like the way you think.” 

Dutch pressed a lingering kiss against his cheek before moving her lips to his ear. “Maybe I’ll even show you how impure I am.” 

“Okay, I _really_ like the way you think.” He laughed, and kissed her before making his way to their bedroom, carrying as if she weighed nothing. 

The whole thing was ridiculous, but she thought they deserved it. They deserved to laugh and be happy in the moment. Happily Ever Afters might not be real, at least not like the fairy tales she’d heard as a kid, but they could make their own. They could try. And they would succeed.


End file.
